Talladega
by NurfHurdur
Summary: Five friends spend a summer following the Piston Cup circuit in the early 1950's. Companion piece to Hard Enough Left. Original Characters. Humanized.
1. Five Best Friends Four Bald Tires

**AN: Three to five(?) chapter piece that I've been kicking around a little lately. Thought I'd work on it and post while waiting to get my motivation back for my other fics.**

 **95% Original Characters with some cameos of the 50s crew. Inspired by the song of the same name by Eric Church.**

* * *

 **Late Spring, 1953**

Hershel Edwards couldn't stand the sound of his first name. It was _old_ and always gave him the mental image of some cranky old man who hated everyone and every _thing_ and had never experienced fun a day in his life. The only ones to ever address him by his given name anymore were his parents, and even then it was only if he was being forced in to discussing the decisions he should be making for his future.

At seventeen years old why should he be worrying about that? He knew what would happen. Just like his older brother, he'd be shipped off to an Ivy League School and as long as he kept his grades up and his nose clean, he'd land a job in his father's company and never worry about anything a day in his life. _Hershel Edwards_ was a name already awaiting a name plaque for a desk in his father's offices. Why he had to put up with four years of school in the meantime, he didn't know.

William Bell, a cousin through his mother's side had a guaranteed position within the business as well. So they'd teamed up with the idea to spend the summer after high school graduation doing something they actually enjoyed before being forced in to the cookie cutter molds their parents had already prepared for them.

The idea had been highly opposed, until they had broken down Mr. Edwards enough with the idea that they wouldn't be _alone. E_ nough of their mates from school would be more than happy to spend the summer traveling with them, and Dean Collins' family could even supply the transportation.

So they'd gathered up their friends, and a tag along, William's younger brother Thomas, to follow the Piston Cup circuit for the summer of 1953. It would be their last big adventure before parting ways as they became adults and found their places within the world. A bunch of teenage boys from upstate New York, who'd never traveled further than Pennsylvania, would be driving up and down the southern east coast from one dirt track to the next.

* * *

"You know. When I told Father we'd be traveling in the Winnebago Dean Collins' family owns, this isn't what I had in mind."

"Well it's a Winnebago." Dean defended. "And my family owns it. So it's not a lie."

"It's falling apart." William, who tended to go by _Billy_ due to the fact that there were two Williams within their group, frowned at the camper that could only be a few years old.

Dean shrugged. "My uncle got a hold of it and decided to use it for parts on another project. There's nothing wrong with it, once I got everything replaced that is." He slapped the side of the camper with forced enthusiasm and grinned when the screen door popped open behind him. Shoving it closed again, he passed them to get in to the Chevy truck he'd been gifted on his sixteenth birthday.

Billy only eyed his cousin a moment before reaching out and securing the screen door, speaking finally when Hershel passed him to get in the truck as well. "Hey, Hersh."

"What?"

"If we die."

"Yeah."

"I'm blaming you."

"Way ahead of you."

They all took turns driving, Dean, Billy, Hershel and Will. Thomas was only fifteen and for the most part had stayed quiet in the back seat, Billy and Hershel were the only ones he really knew. Not that Dean and Will were total strangers, but he hadn't specifically wanted to join them on their adventure in the first place. Why spend a summer in the hot, dusty south, when he could have been doing just about anything else back home.

Billy couldn't sit still the night before the first race they would attend. They'd fumbled with getting the truck unhitched, none of them having much experience with anything mechanical. It's what made the very idea of Piston Cup so foreign to them. They knew makes and models, sure, but to ask them the difference between a Ford and Chrysler motor was out of the question. The only one who knew much of anything was Billy, and that was only because he'd started collecting the new publication magazine Piston Cup had begun to print. A few of them had stayed behind to get the camper situated while the others went ahead to the track to make sure they'd be able to purchase half decent tickets before the booths closed for the night.

"Do you think any of the drivers will be there already?"

"Maybe, I know some of them like to see the track beforehand."

"It's kind of a waste of time isn't it." Will Brooks cut in to the conversation between Billy and Hershel. "I might not know a lot about Piston Cup, but you two never shut up about it. Why should any of them be trying so hard if what's-his-name had been winning all those races last year."

"It's still competition." Billy shrugged, he hadn't taken his eyes off their tickets since he'd been handed them at the ticket counter. "Wouldn't you want to be known for knocking the champion off his throne?"

They walked along the chain link fence, back to where Dean's truck was parked and looked up at the sound of engines on the track below.

Will's brows lowered. "I thought the race was tomorrow."

"It is." Hershel kept walking. "They usually have an amateur run the night before." That had never interested him, it was the big time or nothing.

Getting back to the others, Billy had made sure to put the tickets somewhere safe. No one had been able to manage keeping a fire going and had instead pulled out all the sleep sections of the camper and called it an evening. The lights within the Winnebago were dim, but it was enough for them to keep themselves occupied, some playing cards while others read.

"Why didn't anyone tell me Virginia was so hot."

"It really isn't, Tommy, you just like to complain." Billy muttered from where he flipped through his magazine.

"It is stuffy in here, at least turn on a fan."

"If you're gunna complain about the accommodations, go somewhere else." Dean looked up from his hand of cards.

"Someone's touchy."

"Hey I drove the majority today, just to watch people drive in circles tomorrow. Give me a break." He glanced at the full page ad of the magazine Billy had set down. "No one smiles like that, it's so fake."

"You don't even know if that was actually him, Dean, it's a drawing."

"You're really defending a person you don't know. _C'mon_ , Billy, face it! He was given a big fat check to say what they wanted him to say."

It was just like any other advertisement Billy had ever seen, bright colors with the main logo in big letters with some catchy slogan to get you to remember the brand name should you happen to forget the magazine when you went to the tire shop. Then again, all you had to do was mention the driver's name and they'd be sure to know what you were talking about...

Billy only glanced up dully while turning the page of the small publication. "Like you're one to whine about money." After a pause he flipped back and looked the ad over again. "I'm gunna have one of those someday."

"What, a set of tires?" Will chimed in.

"You wish you had tires like that." He continued despite the eye rolls he received. "No, not the tires, the _car."_

"You, driving a Hudson Hornet. Okay."

"Hey, I will!"

"That'll be the day."

Dean, who couldn't care less about the sport, the drivers, or even this particular summer trip aside from the fact that it got him away from his hometown, leaned back against the bench seat and linked his hands behind his head and continued with his original train of thought. "Actually, he probably didn't even say anything. They just had their marketing team come up with something."

Billy finally flipped the publication closed and put his attention on their card game. "For not knowing, _or caring_ , about this sport at all, you're awfully critical."

His brother spoke up. "Dean's only in it for the cars."

"Isn't everyone? You're only here to keep tabs on big brother and tattle off home if he steps out of line."

An uncomfortable silence fell over the group momentarily. It wasn't that no one liked the kid, but the age gap made it awkward. It was just something they'd all silently agreed to tolerate for the sake of the trip.

"Give him a break, Dean..."

"He's not bothering anyone."

Dean hesitated before picking up another card for his hand and shrugging lightly. "Yeah, Sorry."

* * *

"Who are you betting on?"

"We're not old enough, and if we're not old enough, you're sure not old enough."

"So we're really just going to spend the summer watching a bunch of cars drive in circles?"

"Look." Billy turned to his brother with a look of exasperation. "You agreed to come. We're not taking you home and mom and dad sure aren't going to be paying for a ticket home after you committed to this. So find something to do if this isn't good enough for you."

Apparently the food had been good enough, Tommy used all his money budgeted for the weekend on food from the stands...

After the race, Billy and Hershel had noticed that the other's had gained interest quickly. The others didn't really know any drivers or the cars but neither had they when they first started following.

"I want that Chrysler." Will watched the #300 passing by the stands as they began to empty of spectators. "Hey Billy." He teased faintly. "Why'd your hero finish so far back?"

"Everyone's allowed an off day, you guys act like they're invincible..."

"Only because you make them sound that way."

Billy could only roll his eyes, knowing he'd get a ribbing for the rest of the evening.


	2. Cars That Go Real Fast

Within a few weeks the boys had picked up the gist of the sport that was still sweeping the nation. The energy of the track was contagious and the skeptical attitude had quickly turned to competition between the group over favorite drivers.

They stayed after races late in to the evenings in hopes of possibly bumping elbows with someone, _anyone_ , who called the dirt of the southern U.S. home. They of course never admitted this to one another. They were too old to be star struck by roughnecks a few years older than them. Piston Cup was entertainment, and entertainment only, none of those drivers out there would really ever amount to anything else. Driving certainly wasn't that hard.

"Half of them are probably drop-outs." Will leaned back in the padded seat in the small box they'd splurged for. "Piston's probably the only one with any kind of schooling."

"And look what it gets him." Hershel gestured to the track. "A spot halfway back the lineup and a consistent 10th through 15th finish.

Will shrugged and kicked a foot up over the empty seat in front of him before looking either direction for the others. "Where is everyone?"

"Dean was going to see if he could put a bet in, they didn't ask his age last race, and Billy's still waiting for Tommy."

Will only raised his brows in acknowledgment before hunkering down in to the seat he had claimed.

"We're going to miss this someday."

Will checked his watch, confusing the other as he straightened his arm again roughly to straighten the cuff of his dress shirt over his wrist again. "I win."

"What? Win what?"

"Dean and I had a bet."

"Over what?"

Will shifted as the others piled in to their private box, forced to move as they squeezed past him to get to the seats on the other side of the two. "Hey Dean, you owe me a hundred bucks."

"Already?"

"Already _what_?"

Dean flopped in to the seat on his other side. "On when you'd get all sentimental over this trip."

"It's not _sentimental_." Hershel defended. "When we're all stuck in those brick walled prisons, we're going to miss being able to do anything like this."

"It's sentimental." Will argued, holding a hand out and gesturing for Dean to fork over his money.

"How about a new bet."

"Uh-uh. A hundred bucks Collins, you shook on it."

Hershel huffed in offense while the others all snickered and Will made a show of counting the bills he'd been handed. Leaning back in his seat, he glanced over his shoulder at a few girls they'd all taken notice of when they'd found their box. In a box above them, out of the sun, the girls were sitting near the lower petition. They could be heard discussing different drivers and he was a little surprised to realize they seemed to know more than he did, about everything, from cars to stats to driving styles...

Their conversation stalled after a moment as they realized he was listening in and Hershel only shook his head in silent embarrassment, staring at the track while Will winked and asked who they were there with.

"I wasn't aware I needed to be here with someone." One girl replied coolly, sunglasses hiding her eyes.

"Who are you with? Did your mother bring you?" The second girl asked innocently.

Will's smile faltered and Hershel continued to stare ahead with a sympathetic grin when the first girl laughed in surprise at the remark, along with the other boys of their own group.

When the girls' giggling had subsided and they continued with their conversation, ignoring Will's red ears, Hershel finally looked away from the track and toward him.

"That's Emily Piston, you realize...I'm not sure about her friend, but that means they're both probably around five years older than us..."

"Was just being nice."

"Yeah, I'm sure, and she's probably heard it all before from everyone else that sits around a track. Seventeen year old kid won't impress her."

Will fell silent, eyes on the track and hoping everyone would turn their attention elsewhere.

None of them could quite place _exactly_ what it was that drew them in to the sport. In the stands, at least in the sections they had found themselves in, it was all glitz and Hollywood glamour. Below them on the track, it was rough and calculating, fighting for a position and not being afraid to scuff up the body of a car to get there. Cars that started the race in pristine condition were covered in layers of red dirt, the numbers barely discernible in some cases. Drivers alike, were not going to be winning any contests in tidiness. It was amazing that any of them did stick around after a race to indulge fans. It couldn't be comfortable.

They were disappointed to see that none of the drivers stayed after that particular race, not realizing there would be other events taking place in less than an hour.

"Where's the next race?" Billy asked, eyeing the last few teams that were preparing to leave, some of the most recognizable, but their group was too far up in the stands to make it down in time to even offer any congratulations.

"I dunno." Dean muttered, tearing his betting slip and tossing it in the bin as they passed. "It's in that mag you've got isn't it?"

"We might need to get another map." Tommy commented. "I don't remember where the next one is, but the next few are further south."

"Great." Will muttered, and Hershel clapped him on the back as they made it down the last few steps of the stands to ground level. "More heat."

* * *

Five boys in close quarters for any length of time could spell trouble, but by the current point of the season some tensions were running high.

"Billy, I swear, if you don't shut up about Hudson and that stunt he pulled at Thomasville."

"You're just sore you keep putting money on Heming."

" _He'd been winning._ "

"The key word there is-"

"If you two and your crying cause me to miss my turn I'm kicking you out of my truck!"

There was a momentary pause before someone in the back muttered. "I'm pretty sure we can walk from here..."

The tense silence continued a few moments before one of them couldn't keep themselves from sputtering lowly in amusement, causing the mood to finally break as the other boys followed suit.

Hershel was impressed to realize it had been Tommy, quiet, unassuming, Tommy.

The race was the following morning, but most spectators and teams alike had arrived the night before. One of the newer tracks, without even a proper parking lot, was filled with other groups that had shared the boys' idea in following the circuit that summer. Some farmer's open field that Piston Cup had rented for the weekend was filled with people sleeping in the backs of their station wagons, some with campers and some incredibly adventurous individuals sleeping in the beds of their trucks.

Someone had thought ahead, and there were large stacks of firewood pockmarking the field. While none of them had yet been able to get a fire lit, one of their neighboring Piston fans had been more than happy to do so. They then instructed them on how to maintain it. If they couldn't figure it out from there, well...

Somehow the conversation had turned to moonshine. The screen to the camper stuck, and Billy was forced to kick it shut as he returned to their circle, listening to Hershel attempt to explain how the concept of running moonshine had helped shape the sport they'd all become so entranced with.

Billy, though, while trying to listen and possibly share what he knew, was distracted by different groups of young adults walking through the maze of fires. Some their age, some older, and surprisingly, some of them at least twice the age of the oldest in their group.

"Oh, come on." Dean poked at the fire with a small stick. "There's no way half of them-"

"I didn't say they still do. That's just how it started..."

"There's no way Goldenboy Hudson has ever-"

"Ever what?"

The group fell silent at the question posed by someone outside their circle. Billy paled considerably, having heard enough interviews on the radio to know who was standing just past the ring of light from their fire. As his eyes adjusted, he realized there were about five or six people standing in a group at the edge of the little area they'd claimed for the rest of the weekend.

"I think he was gunna say you've never touched shine, Hud."

"Well there goes my image, huh."

Dean attempted to puff up his chest, as if bravado would win him points. "You've never actually-"

He was cut off by Tommy, once more surprising everyone when he started asking questions while the rest of them sat there dumbfounded.

"Did moonshine really start it?"

"That's a little before our time." One of the others in the group replied, and when Dean tried to say they'd just proven his point, he spoke over him. "Doesn't mean we don't still make it."

"Well. You make it." Another chimed in. "We just deliver it."

"Junior Moon's got the best shine this side of the Mississippi."

"Wait, what side of the Mississippi are we on."

"Doesn't matter."

The younger boys felt their nerves ease at the chatter between the drivers. Still starstruck and afraid to speak, it took a while for them all to finally get around to introducing themselves, feeling ridiculous when they stumbled over their own names.

"No it's Hershel- but you know, no one ever calls me-"

"Hershey. Like the chocolate bar."

He blinked, unsure if he was being made fun of or if they were including him in their banter.

"Don't mention food, I haven't eaten in hours."

"For the love of- Jesse, shut up."

"Do you think Ruth has chocolate."

"What did I _just_ -" There was an exasperated sigh in the dark. "Go. Just go."

"Well I wouldn't wanna wake her up."

" _Make up your mind._ "

The younger group was a little stunned, but didn't miss the knowing look The Fabulous Hudson Hornet shot at the other drivers they recognized. It made more sense once introductions were continued, the #51 crew chief was more intimidating in stance than the driver was...

The high school graduates were surprised when the drivers stuck around, a few of them ducking out now and then and always returning with something they'd left in search of. Hudson returned with who everyone assumed must have been Ruth until introductions were made, and to Will's utter dismay, she just happened to be the girl who'd been with Emily Piston months before. She either didn't remember them, or had decided not to comment, either way was fine with him.

For all their talk of shine, a jar of Junior's last batch had found its way there, and as the night wore on, they'd somehow gained a crowd of at least twenty-five people.

"There's no moonshine where I'm from." Tommy commented while looking at the cup in his hand.

Junior was quick to remove that cup. "Just looking at you I can tell you're too young for that."

"But they-"

"Are under some very watchful eyes." He gestured to everyone from his own group, and how once pointed out, it was very obvious they were keeping an eye on things.

So much for clueless country rough necks, drivers knew the possible penalties involved with alcohol near a track.

Conversations shifted, starting on one topic and ending on an entirely different subject. It was as chaotic as a race at moments, comments being interjected out of nowhere, overheard statements being expanded upon, or questions being answered by someone other than who it had been intended for. It was camaraderie over a shared interest.

"Where are you all from anyway?" Someone finally asked.

"New York." Will replied around a mouthful of chocolate. Someone had finally had enough and hunted some down.

Jesse nearly dropped what he was doing. "Someone let these Yankees in my territory- where are we anyway."

"Alabama." Ruth replied patiently.

" _Alabama._ "

"Isn't Georgia your territory." Billy asked in a moment of forced courage.

"Cheeky." Jesse glanced up at him dully from where he'd knelt beside the fire. Standing, he held out what he'd been holding. "It's been fun, kiddos, but the drivers need to leave if we expect to drive tomorrow."

The others had already begun to gather their things, thinking the same.

"Make sure you bet on the winner tomorrow."

Billy ignored their parting remarks, realizing exactly what he'd been handed. "Wait. What is this?"

Jesse had let Ruth in front of him as they had turned to leave the other direction. These northern kids and not knowing anything... "A Roman Candle."

"What?"

"Have fun."

Luckily he'd fished out the one with an incredibly long fuse, giving the poor kid more than enough time to figure it out before the thing went off.

River motioned to a pile of them on the far side of the camper, _away_ from the fire. "Left you some."

While the drivers might have left to get a decent nights rest before the race, they were up until all hours carousing and sharing what they'd all just experienced in disbelief.

The next morning they paid for it. No one had woken early enough to purchase decent tickets and the race had sold out. Despite being stuck on the outside of the fence, they watched the race with as rapt attention as they ever had, shoulder to shoulder in front of the chain link fence, looking down over the bank at a field of cars and breathing the dust and grime kicked up every time they passed.

They didn't have seats in the stands, but they had a front row seat to the checkered flag waving over #51 with #34 only inches behind.

"What's this track again?" Will asked.

"It's so new it hasn't been officially named." Billy replied.

That was an odd thought, something being so new it was unnamed but obviously in use. "Then where are we exactly? Closest town I mean."

Hershel finally looked away from the track and down the line of boys.

"Talladega."


	3. Time Rolls On, You Can't Hit Pause

It was over before it had really even started.

When September had rolled around, they made one last race before they had to take Tommy to the closest airport to get home. Still being in high school, his parents had wanted him home at least a week before his first day of classes. Billy and Hershel had somehow convinced their parents that they would begin classes in the spring, giving them the rest of the Piston Cup season to enjoy. Will hadn't made a final decision on where he intended to go and wouldn't begin working for an extended family member until after the holidays. No one knew what Dean's plans were, whenever he was asked, he'd shrug a shoulder with a comment of _who knows_ before changing the subject.

It was coming to an end. While they still had a few weeks to enjoy, and while Tommy hadn't necessarily been the most lively of their bunch, his sudden absence accentuated the fact that their time together was drawing to a close. They wouldn't see each other every day, they wouldn't be able to meet up on a Friday night to go cruising through town or catch a movie. They would be in different parts of the country come spring time and there wasn't anything anyone could do to stop the clock.

They never addressed it. The knowledge of their parting hung over them like the fine dust of the track and they clamored through it in attempt to enjoy what time was left.

Maybe if they saved their money, or made a large enough wager, they'd be able to buy their way in to the 1953 Piston Cup banquet, that would certainly be the way to end their summer together.

Will had come up with the idea mid September, but no one had taken him up on the offer until weeks later. They all stood in line at the betting counter as Dean counted and recounted the money he'd been handed by the others. With a large enough bet, they could use the money to reserve tickets in advance. If they already had tickets in hand, their parents couldn't tell them no.

The windows hadn't even opened to place bets yet but lines had already formed, despite the fact that spectators knew they would remain open until the race started. They all wanted to be sure they were there and had their slip in hand before they made it to their seats.

"How many races are even left anyway?" Will asked, eyeing the money in Dean's hand as he counted yet one more time. If they didn't make enough with this race, they could always attempt to do so in the following weeks.

"Less than six weeks to the season, maybe only four or five." Hershel replied distractedly as he watched the workers behind the counters. The barred petitions were still down, but he could see them getting their areas in order for the incredible amount of transactions they would be handling in the next three hours.

"You have to put it on Hudson."

"Well who else would he put it on."

"He's been betting on Heming all season."

Dean rolled his eyes, and as much as he hated to admit it, he nodded. "Yeah, I'm putting it on Hudson."

Billy patted the back of his shoulder roughly, the payout might not be as high as some of the other drivers but with the amount they were putting down it would be enough. Hudson was the safest bet.

One of the workers at a nearby counter must have heard their conversation and glanced up over their shoulder at the line up on the wall. "Steve, we forgot to change that."

Billy had heard the comment, and his expression fell when he saw someone pull out the step ladder. He glanced about at other patrons who were waiting to make their wagers and saw his own look of confusion mirrored on multiple faces as the number was removed from the top of the list.

"They took #51 off the line up."

"Who do we bet on now?"

"The next safest one I'd think. It should still be enough, and even if it isn't, we'll bet again next week."

Being part of the betting process didn't seem nearly as interesting upon realizing they wouldn't be putting the money on his favorite driver, and Billy stepped to the side away from the line. When he mentioned that he was going to go find their seats, the others agreed and Dean replied that he'd meet them after getting their slip.

The three hesitated, still a little surprised that their plan had backfired the way it did. With a disappointed huff Hershel turned to leave the line, the others following suit but they all paused when they heard a man at the last window.

"Hudson withdrew?"

"Afraid so. Team #51 won't be out there today."

"Awfully short notice, unless someone forgot their job with the boards."

"No. We just received word from officials this morning. #51 won't be in the line up for a while."

At the man's look of confusion the bookmaker only shrugged.

Dean had caught up to them, sooner than they anticipated, and must have heard a similar conversation.

"Won't be placing any bets now Billy."

"I hadn't been betting anyway."

* * *

Team #51 returned at the end of the season for two races. Having missed three in a row, Hudson had started in the middle of the pack upon returning. It hadn't mattered, though, both of the final races he'd taken first.

Billy couldn't tell if his sudden aversion to staying after races was his own or if there was something that had changed on the track. He couldn't quite place it. Maybe it had to do with the fact that their summer was over, he was no longer hoping for a chance to see these drivers after a race. Maybe it was the change in the air, and whether that had to do with the season changing or an actual shift in the attitude of the sport, he didn't know. Maybe he wasn't the starstruck kid he'd been back in May, maybe he'd done some growing up on the road and had only just realized it.

He didn't mention it to the others, but could tell they felt the same. At the very last race of the season, they stood against the rail of the outside while Dean finally had his chance to speak to his favorite driver. Looking between Will and Hershel (Hershey, because somehow the name had stuck after Talladega even though they couldn't remember which driver actually had started it) he only received knowing looks in response before Will cleared his throat and looked down at his shoes, kicking at the dust they'd all finally become comfortable with.

They had enough money to get their tickets to the banquet, even enough to include Tommy and maybe that would give them the closure to the 1953 Piston Cup season they needed.

Hudson would get the Cup that year, that much was obvious, and Billy was surprised to look past Hershel's shoulder to see the #51 team was still in their space. The immediately recognizable Hornet had been loaded on a trailer and the two they'd met earlier that season sat together on the back of the trailer, speaking to someone who appeared to be pretty important to the sport if the dress suit was anything to go by.

"Who's that?" Will asked, inclining his head in that direction.

"Beats me." Billy muttered.

"Probably a pencil pusher of some kind." Hershel added, watching as the man crossed the track and ducked under the rail to go to the press boxes.

The group watched in silence as Jesse Hudson hopped off the trailer. He was halfway to Heming when the other driver ended his conversation with Dean.

"Joe shuttin' down the track?"

"Yeah. Five minutes before we're charged with a late fee."

The four assumed it was a joke, but then again they didn't know much of the inner workings...

They all acknowledged Hudson when he offered a polite wave before turning to walk back to the cars with Heming. It was strange to see competitors together, on a track without the intensity of a race. The only thing that set the two apart in that moment was the colors of their jackets.

They weren't trying to listen in on the conversation, but these were the only few moments they had left of their summer in Piston Cup. They wouldn't be doing this next year, or maybe ever again, and it didn't matter which drivers it could have been walking across the track together. They just happened to have lucked out in the fact that it was the two they'd followed all year, standing between their teams with their backs to the boys as the dust settled in the orange haze of evening.

Will was the first to turn away, followed by Dean. Hershel turned away from the scene of racers ending a season together and looked briefly at Billy before going to follow the others.

Billy had the hardest time of all of them. He'd waited months for that summer. It was over. Their traveling was over, their quareling over drivers was over. Getting a chance like that would never come again. He'd never be this age, in this moment, ever again. He didn't want to walk away.

He'd dreamed of going out there and being one of them, and while he'd been enthralled with the sport all season, he knew he wasn't cut out for it. Those drivers had more grit than he could ever hope for. Their hearts were made for the deafening roar of engines, the smell of rubber and gasoline. He could appreciate it, but he'd never have what it took.

One last long look at the track before he left. The dirt, the rails, the track maintenance workers that suddenly appeared from nowhere to groom the track. The two teams who still hadn't left the track standing in a half circle across from them. He couldn't hear what was being said but he did see Hudson nod his head and could tell he had said _thanks_ , to what he didn't know.

It didn't really matter.

"Billy let's go."

He finally turned from the scene and looked back to see the three waiting for him near the gate.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm coming."

* * *

The banquet had been everything they expected, and they'd tried hard to get a chance to mingle with their favorite drivers again, but a function filled with photographers, rowdy Piston Cup drivers blowing off steam at the end of the year and businessmen trying to prepare for the next year wasn't exactly the setting to accomplish such.

They did get a chance to see the 1953 Piston Cup up close and personal, though. Once it had been awarded, and Jesse Hudson made his remarks, the trophy had been put on display in one of the front corners of the room, at the end of a long table filled with awards, articles and large photographs highlighting the season.

It was hard to recognize drivers in suits, or anything other than their racing jackets really, but they'd been looking over different photos on the wall as well as the table, pointing out moments they remembered from their summer when Hershel glanced up to see the Cup being placed on the far end. Hudson, his crew chief and a few official looking people had their photos taken before parting ways again, but before stepping away from the table completely the #51 driver had set what looked like a white placement card on the ornate looking pedestal the trophy was attached to.

Without mentioning it to the others, he waited his turn as they followed the line of people looking over the items on the table until finally getting a chance to see the trophy up close.

They weren't anything to scoff at. The Piston Cup trophy looked heavy, with fine details and craftsmanship. There was no cutting corners on the quality, and even the name engraving appeared to have been painstakingly done.

It was better than any of his little awards sitting at home. The cost of materials alone had to be impressive...

He glanced down quickly, remembering he had wanted to see what it was Hudson had placed with his award.

It was a place setting card, like he had assumed. They had all kept their own as a keepsake. He read the gold calligraphy in silence, noting the card had been placed just beside the engraving of the name plate on Hudson's trophy.

Ruth Hudson.

Will seemed to have finally noticed it and commented lowly behind him. "Was that the-"

"Yeah." He looked up, spotting the driver in question not far from where they stood, in the middle of a conversation with his crew chief. He grinned at whatever was said before taking a drink from the glass in his hand.

He wouldn't put it past that group to smuggle their own moonshine in.


	4. Sure Would Like To Stay

**Summer 1955**

They'd drifted apart. In exactly the way he'd been afraid they would.

All five of them had only been able to meet at once for a single race in the summer of 54. Will was living too far north to consider spending that much time away. He'd filled his schedule, and in an attempt to lessen the load every fall, he would take as many summer classes as possible. He'd met them at the airport for a single weekend race and had left only hours after the flag had dropped. Dean was never in the same place more than a few weeks. No one from their circle would hear from him for months at a time when he'd suddenly show up out of the blue, usually use someone's couch for a week and disappear again. Tommy was finishing his last year of high school and to give him a bit of a break, his parents had allowed him to stay with Billy for the summer. They both had decided to make sure they kept in close contact with Hershel, it was easier than with the others, considering they were related.

Hershel had taken his classes in business and business law and decided he was going to kill two birds with one stone. After an afternoon at the Piston Cup main offices, it had been decided that he would intern with them during the season, allowing a certain amount of hours to count towards his credits.

He'd only approached them earlier that year as the spring semester had drawn to a close and by the time all the details had been ironed out, the season was well underway.

He could still attend races, and he could get decent seats for the others, but instead of just spectating, he would have responsibilities. It wasn't exactly kicking back and just enjoying the afternoon but he was still there. He was still near the track and that atmosphere he'd found so addicting.

Tommy and Billy had flown home to spend a few days with family, and he'd promised he would call later in the evening to let them know how it had gone, but the six hours between that phone call and that moment standing in front of the doors suddenly seemed like an eternity.

Taking a deep breath and checking to make sure his suit appeared presentable, he pulled the main doors open, and then the secondary doors in to a bustling lobby that seemed almost as chaotic as the tracks they managed.

He wasn't quite sure where he was supposed to go, a few names had been mentioned, but because he'd been the one to pitch the idea he was fairly sure they expected him to take control of the situation. Pulling a piece of scrap paper from his pocket, he glanced over the names he had jotted down as he approached one of the front desks.

A young girl with blonde hair hung up the phone beside her and looked up at him questioningly. "Can I help you?"

"I- uh, yeah- yes." How was that for professionalism? "Yes, please. I need to meet with either Mr. Moore or-"

"I'm afraid Mr. Moore is in meetings all day."

"Well then-" He pulled the paper from his pocket again and raised a brow, the other options would not be available at all. "Then either Miss Piston or Mr. Piston..."

The girl looked at him skeptically.

"Those were the names I was told to ask for..."

She picked up the phone receiver and shook her head. "Alright..."

While the secretary listened to the phone ring, Hershel could tell someone was approaching the desk, only looking up when he realized they were addressing him.

"Mr. Edwards, right?

"Uh- yes."

The man stuck his hand out. "I apologize for the wait, we're a little crunched for time this afternoon so it won't be until tomorrow possibly that we really get started. Joseph Moore."

The secretary had hung up the phone upon seeing Joe and realizing that Hershel had found at least one person that could help him.

Hershel had barely gotten his name out when Joe was excusing them from the front of the desk and was leading him down a hallway.

He was given a tour of the main office spaces, or at least the general areas he would be working in. It was fast paced and a little overwhelming, but he had to continually remind himself that it was apparently an off day if what Mr. Moore said was anything to go by. He caught the older man checking his watch repeatedly before going on their tour and acquainting him with the surroundings.

"This is where you'll most likely spend most of your time, at least until you've gotten your feet wet and are familiar with the systems we have in place. We've streamlined the process by track through the years, but every now and then there are still moments of confusion, sponsors calling the wrong number and not being transferred or being transferred to the wrong line..." His voice lowered and he spoke quietly over his shoulder as they returned to the main hall that lead back to the lobby. "Now there's the possibility of opening up the option of allowing share holders in...something else to iron out..."

Hershel could only frown slightly, he didn't have to be involved long to consider the amount of headaches that could cause. He was in school for business after all.

Joe glanced at his watch again with a sigh. "I would have liked to spend the afternoon with you but I have some important meetings I can't miss." He placed a hand on Hershel's back and herded him toward an open door. "Mr. Smith can answer any questions you might have or even give you a more thorough walk through."

Hanging through the doorway, he caught the man's attention. "Greg can you help Mr. Edwards this afternoon."

Hershel couldn't help but feel like a burden as they discussed where he would go.

"I have-"

"Even if it's just for an hour or so. I have to be upstairs in ten minutes."

"Oh..." Greg looked at the clock. "That's today."

"Mmm."

"Why not Emi-"

"Miss Piston has been working with record transfers all day." Joe hesitated and looked back toward Hershel. "She's actually training someone this afternoon, you could probably join them."

Hershel felt his stomach twist in to a knot, the only time he had ever seen Emily Piston was when his friend had been making a fool of himself, hopefully she wouldn't remember him. Afraid of being a disappointment, even in the hectic afternoon, he only nodded as Joe told him that Mr. Smith would point him in the right direction.

* * *

"It's self-explanatory." Emily spoke in a tone that suggested she'd rather be doing anything else. "Everything is categorized by year, date, then alphabetized by track, then numerically by team number. Their finishes, penalties, or if there were any withdrawals on that particular track, you'll find them under the team number."

"That sounds complicated." A girl about her age muttered, looking at the file cabinets as if they could bite her. Hershel had to agree, one person in charge of all that information...

"It's alright once you've grown accustomed to it." Emily replied while pushing a drawer closed. Her voice trailed off as she glanced through the glass petitions to the hall, she paused and watched the group walking through from the main lobby.

Hershel blinked a few times, realizing he was supposed to keep a professional air about him now that he would be working in the Piston offices, but he was still as star struck as he'd been in some grass field in the middle of Alabama.

The group didn't pay any mind to anyone else within the building, apparently with a specific destination in mind as they were led down the hall by Mr. Moore and through the door just passed the room of records they occupied. Hershel caught a glimpse of a wooden staircase before the door closed behind them.

It had been nearly a year since he'd seen Jesse Hudson in person.

* * *

"He looks like he aged five years." He leaned back at his desk, phone cord stretched to the limit as he'd remembered to call his cousin later that evening.

"Can you blame him?" Billy muttered, sounding distracted. "I mean, you've seen the pictures..."

"Billy, we were there..."

"Again, can you blame him? The guy's lucky to be alive."

"I dunno why they were there, couldn't really tell."

"Probably a lot of formalities to get out of the way."

"Mmm. I left before they did. Tomorrow's my first real official day." He suddenly remembered something he'd wanted to mention and sat up again. "You should've seen that car, Billy."

"Probably not the same one."

"Not from what people were saying."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, was gorgeous. They put a lot of work in it. I actually spent a lot of time in the parking lot looking it over."

"Be nice to see it out there again."

He could only mutter an agreement. They'd had decent seats that race, and they'd been surprised by the amount of trouble different drivers had throughout. No matter how old he ever got, he didn't think he'd ever forget seeing the first tumble the Hudson Hornet took. He hadn't seen the rest of it, he'd looked away. All he remembered was standing beside Billy and watching from halfway up the temporary stands as the race was brought to a violent halt, drivers standing in the sand behind the barricade put in place while an ambulance left the track.

He remembered that, and hours on the phone with the others, who wanted every detail they could remember.

As the silence dragged on, he narrowed his eyes slightly, realizing Billy hadn't been very involved with the conversation. "What are you doing?"

"Looking at my options for buying a couple shares..."

The next morning, at his first official day of interning, he discovered that The Fabulous Hudson Hornet had officially retired.


End file.
